


Elegance

by startwithsparks



Series: MMOM 2013 [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter is a man of elegance, indulgence, and precision... in <i>all</i> things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elegance

The ancient Egyptians regarded it as sacred, an act of creation or divine magic. The tides of the Nile were considered a direct reaction to the god Atum's ejaculation; indeed, even the Pharaohs of old would spill their seed into the waters of the Nile to ensure the continued prosperity and bounty of the land it fed. The Greeks believed that onanism was a gift from the god Hermes to his son Pan, a relief from his pining over the supple nymph, Echo. Countless other civilizations shared the same opinions of the act - that it was more than just a way to control persistent sexual urges, but as a means of enhancing and honing one's sexual pleasure. In that sense, autoeroticism was like a whetstone for the blade of human virility and strength, something necessary to ensure that all the parts of the human machine remained in pristine working condition.

For Hannibal, it was less a matter of virility, his concern wasn't even the exercise of his own sexual pleasure, but rather it was a necessary indignity that he chose to look upon with certain flourish. If one presented something in the right way, even the most unpalatable experiences could be considered a delicacy. Hannibal was master of presentation, a man with a keen eye for the artistic, and he prided himself on the fact that this elegance extended to all aspects of his life. What could otherwise be considered vulgar took a certain skill to turn elegant again. This could be said for his other tastes of his as well, certainly, but it was such a simple indulgence that it would be a shame if he didn't show it the same level of care as he did in all things.

Part of any presentation was ambiance. Hannibal regarded himself as very much a romantic, in the most literary sense, and even the most horrific elements of his nature and his history were something he looked upon with a certain sublimity. After dinner, with a glass of port balanced delicately in his left hand, he detached his iPod from the dock in the dining room and carried it with him upstairs and down the wide hall to his bathroom. His thumb brushed easily across the touch-screen, shifting from the soft, melodic dinner music to something with a bit more passion. His attention fell on Debussy, and he swiped across the menu to select it before clicking the iPod into the dock on the counter.

Music started softly as he set his glass on the edge of the bath and leaned across the tub to turn the water on, letting his fingers trail idly under the stream until it was just the right temperature. He dabbed his hand off on the towel hanging next to the bath and reached for a bottle of oil on a nearby shelf. As soon as he popped the top with his thumb, the crisp scent of neroli filled the room, the amber colored oil glinting on the surface of the water as he drizzled it into the rapidly-filling bath. Disrobing was rather less ceremonial to him, though dressing had quite the opposite effect. Some of his clothes went neatly into a hamper, while the rest were laid aside to be dry cleaned or otherwise tended to later. By the time he had finished undressing, the bath was nearly full and steaming slightly. He twisted the tap off, dragging his fingers across the surface to check the temperature again, then gingerly stepped in.

He breathed a soft sigh as he settled down into the water, the heat and neroli working immediately on the knots in his muscles and tension in his lower back. He settled against the sloped back of the tub, stretching his legs out until his feet hit the other side and arched them gracefully. His muscles stretched and tightened, then relaxed again, every little ache easing away as he sunk deeper into the water. The bath was deep enough that the water reached him mid-chest, his skin reddening a few inches higher and steam rippling off his flesh as he bent his knees and settled in. Bathing had always been considered one of the world's greatest luxuries; the hedonism that occurred at the once-famous public baths of the Roman Empire were legendary, and in Britain, the priests and holy men saw the sinful nature of the baths and condemned them. While this was hardly the social atmosphere of the public baths, there was no doubt that being nude, wet, and dripping with fragrant oils had a very intoxicating quality to it no matter the setting.

It was just one of the excesses that Hannibal allowed himself, but some nights it was sweeter than others. He tipped his head back against the cool porcelain, letting his eyes ease closed as he reached for the glass next to his arm. With one hand holding the stem of his glass, the other broke the surface of the water to slip below. His skin was slick, warm, and his fingers easily grazed his flesh on the way down, wrapping his fingers loosely around himself. At first, his movements were slow, almost lazy, his eyes still closed and the sound of Debussy's _Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune_ ringing pleasantly off the tile around him. For him it was about the balance: moving slow enough that the water around him didn't slosh unseemly around him, all the while keeping his glass upright and held carefully from his fingers. At the same time, the pace of the music - the low lulls and the stirring highs - propelled the pace of his hand, urging him precariously close to the edge time and again before letting him slip back into the relaxed flood of warmth.

Hannibal was in no hurry to rush this along. He had all evening to tend to his baser needs and the deliciously long build-up was part of the experience. His fingers slipped lower, the muscles of his thighs flexing as he dropped his legs further apart to press down between them. His flesh was warmer here, blood already flowing lower. With his middle two fingers, he trailed firmly across the sensitive skin, feeling the twinge of nerves respond deep inside him. He could easily work himself off just like this, without ever touching anything else. But why limit himself to only one? He took another deep drink and set the port aside, his other hand following the first into the water to wrap around himself.

It was no furious movement, no reckless drive to the brink, but a languid meandering ever closer to that point of no return. The only thing that he had to worry about was lifting his hips just far enough out of the water to catch everything that spilled forth, groping for a towel to wipe his hands clean. It wouldn't do to have to ruin this experience by sullying his bath water. Instead, he braced his feet against the bottom of the tub, arching his hips upwards easily, and artfully caught the mess across the back of his fingers. Only after he cleaned himself up was he able to relax down into the hot water again, drifting easily with the music and the last of the port to lull him.

It was true that part of him was undoubtedly curious about what this experience may be like in the company of others - what the Romans and Britons and Persians and countless others of old must have experienced in their expansive public baths. Perhaps that was something he would have to arrange for himself in the future. All indulgences were made more delightful by the company of others, he'd never known a one to defy that logic.


End file.
